“We’ll send over the contract.” She stands and kisses me on the cheek. “Now that I’m leaving, you and Mason can gossip without me about your poker club.”
“Club?” Mason acts offended.
Cynthia waves as she rushes off.
“Her sister-in-law is having a baby, but she’s right; we think you’re not evaluating your needs with enough inflation to cover the rising staffing costs,” Mason explains. “Franklin Technologies is struggling right now because they thought their name alone would get them great candidates. Unfortunately, living here in the Bay Area is prohibitively expensive. We don’t want you to have the same challenges, so as Cynthia said, we’re upping our bid. And we’ll reserve the option for a second round with an additional twenty-five million for an additional ten percent of the company. How does that sound?”
“I think we have a deal. Send over the contracts, and we’ll make this work.”
“Great. Let’s enjoy our lunch.”
Like magic, our plates arrive and are placed in front of us.
“I heard you had an exciting morning,” Mason says.
“Not my favorite way to lose productivity, but it does make the highlight reel.”
“What happened?”
“A messenger delivered a box for my admin—”
“Corrine?”
“Yes, I brought it upstairs and thought nothing of it. When she opened it, it smelled of shit. She took it downstairs to open it without offending our senses. And, trust me, it was pretty bad. Our security guard is a former Army explosive expert—trained by Jim and Clear Security, of course—”
“Absolutely.”
“He recognized that because it was fertilizer, it could be a bomb.”
“Corrine is lucky it wasn’t.”
“No kidding. She was halfway out the door when the security guard insisted that she put it down. He called the police department, and the bomb squad came. It was complete chaos. They cleared the building and the rest of the block.”
“What a mess.”
I shrug. “We lost the morning.”
“Who sent it?”
“There was a message in the box that told her to keep her hands off her ex-boyfriend.”
Mason sits back, looking shocked. “Was she messing with her ex?”
I shake my head. “I know I’m not known to be the most sensitive guy out there, but this asshole broke up with her on the news.”
“The news?”
“Yeah, he’s the quarterback of the Goldminers.”
“Corrine’s a cheerleader?”
Mason obviously saw the segment where he talked about that.
“No, he dumped Corrine for the cheerleader.”
He takes a drink of his water. “That is insensitive.”
“I can’t believe it. It pisses me off. Talk about not having any class. How do people even like a guy who breaks up with his girlfriend during a news conference? It’s no wonder his new girlfriend feels so threatened.”
Chapter 3
Corrine
While Jackson’s gone, I ponder his invitation to Cecelia Lancaster’s funeral. I’m honored to get to pay my respects, but I’m also completely surprised that he thought of me long enough to make the offer. I guess maybe he’s more aware of me than I think. Or he was today. That stink bomb made my presence hard to miss.
I sigh. Cecelia’s death is such a loss. She was terrific to work with and fantastic at getting technology billionaires—Jackson included—to contribute to her foundation. Her goal was to make sure every child has access to a computer. Her foundation leveled the playing field for those unable to afford them, and hopefully lessened the poverty divide.
Jackson has been very generous, but then again, he’s worth billions, so why wouldn’t he be? He seems to make smart decisions and doesn’t flaunt his money all over the place with too many flashy toys. He doesn’t buy a ton of expensive gifts for his girlfriends, either. He seems to dump them as soon as the timing would warrant it.
When Jackson returns from his lunch meeting with Mason Sullivan, he has a spring in his step. He asks me to follow him into his office.
“I see it went well,” I tell him as I do.
“Even better than we’d hoped,” he says proudly. “We should celebrate.”
I smile at him. I know he doesn’t mean we as in him and me, but him and the current Barbie.
“I’ll see where I can get you and Valerie a dinner reservation,” I tell him. “Would you want to try French Laundry up in Napa and a night at the Meritage?”
“No! I meant you and me.” He points at me. “We should celebrate over dinner. I owe you for all our success. You completed the patent application and put the funding proposal together so well, they didn’t even need me to pitch to them.”
“Me?” I’m completely taken aback. This is the strangest day ever.
The closest thing to a personal interaction we’ve had before today was when he interviewed me and asked me to tell him something about myself. And all I shared was that I went to college at the University of Texas in Austin, and how working for him would be perfect because I want to save the environment. I arrange his dates, but he and I don’t get personal.
He’s still smiling at me. “Sure. Why not? Without you, I’d have nothing to celebrate. They gave us an extra ten million for a minor percentage increase and a commitment for round two.”
“That’s fantastic.” His enthusiasm is contagious. “But I only make the package look pretty. It’s all your ideas and numbers. Don’t worry about me.” I change the subject. “You received a package, by messenger, from Viviana Prentis. She’s selling you an estate in Maui for a dollar? Must be nice.”
“I think it’s just a beach house I won playing poker. I’ll need to fly out and see it before the next tournament. I may want to keep it or maybe let her win it back.”
When you trade multimillion-dollar
